A Case Study in Drabbles
by Paxie Amor
Summary: A fic made up of drabbles, ranging anywhere from 221 words to 500. These are mostly little ficlets that I wrote for my BFF, QuickenMyEnd. The title for this collection was inspired by my favorite drabble series, A Study in Situations by KCS
1. Nightmare

There were times now and then when he wakes in the middle of the night, the sounds and images from the war in his head as clear as if he was right there in it again. They stopped for a bit after he moved into Baker street; they came back stronger than ever following the Great Game… that's what he would call the story, would he able to post about it on his blog.

This is another one of those nights, but this time the images are of Moriarty and his sniper. It was hard call the dreams before these nightmares; Mycroft had been right, before moving in with Sherlock, he had missed the war. He missed the excitement, the rush… it was never boring with Sherlock, which was really the only way he managed to live through his otherwise mundane existence and keep the nightmares at bay… but now the nightmares were back and he was losing sleep. Things like this would likely send him back to the therapist… the one that he had fired at Mycroft's insistence. Finding a new one was going to be a pain.

By now he's down in the sitting room, in front of the fireplace with a cup of tea; the kettle was still hot. It made him wonder if Sherlock was still awake and if he was, was he the cause. John didn't remember ever screaming during a nightmare before, but the way things had been going, it wouldn't surprise him if he had.

It's then that he hears music. It's not the radio or someone's telly, it's a violin and it's playing Mendelssohn's _Lieder_. As John sits there, he closes his eyes and lets the music engulf him. No longer are the images of his abduction by Moriarty in his head, no longer is his heart racing like he'd ran a mile in two minutes. All he feels is peace and he can't help thinking he has the best, if not the strangest, friend in the world.


	2. 221B: Bastard

Thinking about "A Study in Pink" this morning. If you've seen the unaired pilot (part of the DVD Special Features), John has a nice line about how killing the cabbie wouldn't haunt him... but would something else from that case?

* * *

Words never mattered to me before meeting John; I didn't care what I said or who I offended. Talking to people was just part of solving a case. One of the more boring parts, unless they were lying. It was always fun to get the truth out of a liar.

But now words _did_ matter… not only that, they haunted me. How many times after "A Study in Pink"—I can't believe I'm calling it that—did I think about what John said, when I asked what he'd say if he were dying, told him to have some imagination.

"I don't have to." He was so definitive, so serious… there was some pain there too. It would later occur to me that during the war, there may have been a time or two when he thought "please God, let me live". He'd been restless that night. I heard him tossing and turning in his bed from my room. It wasn't because of the cabbie he had killed; he'd done the deed without a second thought in order to save my life, as well as the lives of innocent people all over London. Killing a man for that reason wouldn't bother a soldier. Reliving your own near death experience though…

"Sometimes, Sherlock," I thought to myself, "you can be such a bastard…"


	3. 221B: Blimey

And now, making her first appearance in "A Case Study in Drabbles", Evera Holmes! Evie is from my other story, "The Red-Headed Murder League" and people seem to like her! Hooray for likable OCs!

This story is inspired by a gift I'd gotten by switching banks. The item was something I'd made fun of for a long time, but now that I have one, I absolutely adore it.

* * *

The birthday gift was meant to be a gag; Evie figured that Sherlock would look at the item in disgust and either use it to clean his chemistry set or set it a blaze and toss it out the window. The latter would have been amusing and would have been well worth the thirteen pounds she spent on the thing. She was quite surprised, however, when her uncle smiled politely and thanked her for the gift. No faces, no remarks; just simple and sincere sounding gratitude.

She didn't see the gift for some time after that and always assumed that he had just thrown it away or given it to John to dispose of. She couldn't say that she blamed him, it was intended as a gag after all… she'd already bought and given him a real one, a set of spare stings for his violin; he wouldn't have been able to hide his delight from a blind man.

It surprised her, however, when she came into the sitting room he shared with John and saw him sitting in his favorite chair with the gift in use.

"You're actually using that?" she asked, amazement in her voice.

"Of course," he replied. "It's quite practical on a cold day like today." Evie shook her head and smiled.

"You, wearing a Snuggie… blimey."


	4. 221B: A Study in Blink

A few days ago, Steven Moffat posted, jokingly, on Twitter that he was going to write "A Study in Blink". I told him that it would be an awesome fanfic. So, I decided to write it, although it's probably not what anyone had in mind :D

* * *

As we walked down the street that day, Evie in between Sherlock and I, we came across a lovely statue of an angel, with its face covered by her hands. As we walked past, Evie stared at the statue, her eyes narrowing slightly but never blinking. She kept her eyes on the angel as we walked past, going so far as to turn and walk backwards so she could keep looking at the figure. Once we had turned the corner, she began walking normally.

"What was that about?" Sherlock asked.

"What was what about?"

"The thing with the statue."

"Don't know what you're talking about." I looked at her, noticing that she was looking over her shoulder slightly.

"And now you're looking back" I said. "What, do you think it's going to come after you?"

"You never know." Later that night, Evie hid the remote on Sherlock and I; forcing us to sit and watch Doctor Who with her. "It's a rerun, but a good one," she promised. "Fair warning, it's a bit scary." Sherlock and I laughed at that, assuring her we wouldn't be frightened of a children's show. An hour later, we were hiding behind the sofa with Evie grinning madly at us. Needless to say, we never looked at angles statues the same way again after watching _Blink_.


	5. 221B: Biscuit

Sherlock turned the page in his newspaper as John walked up the stairs. He cast his eyes towards his flat mate, noting that he was dressed impeccably and more than prepared for his 9am Tuesday morning court date. It was now after eleven, meaning that the ordeal was now over; where Sherlock should have seen joy—or at the very least, relief—he saw… confusion.

"Something wrong?" he asked, his eyes returning to the article he had been glancing over. Prince William was getting married, how interesting… Mycroft would likely try to con him into going; perhaps he could give the invitation to John and Sarah, just so he wouldn't have to deal with the whole silly thing.

"My court case was thrown out," John replied, taking a seat in his chair. "I'd barely gotten to the stand, was just about to make my case and the judge said the case was dismissed." He shrugged his shoulders. "No other explanations, just that the case was dismissed, I could go and 'stay out of trouble'."

"Interesting…" Sherlock turned another page in his newspaper, knowing full well that John was watching him.

"Did you have anything to do with this?" Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and nodded to the small tray on the coffee table in front of them.

"Mind handing me another biscuit?"


	6. 221B: Brigadier

This drabble is dedicated to Nicholas Courtney who passed away on 2/22/11. He was beloved by myself and my fellow Whovians and will be dearly missed. Five rounds, rapid, in his honor.

* * *

The day Nicholas Courtney passed away, Evie was completely inconsolable; neither Sherlock nor I could bring her out of the funk she'd fallen into. Sherlock tried to be understanding, but it was hard for him to comprehend mourning the loss of a person they never really met.

"It's hard," I said. "Losing a hero. Even if you don't personally know them, it still hurts."

"Its normal that she would be upset, I suppose."

"But you don't understand it."

"No."

"He was iconic in Doctor Who," I commented. "I can't think of anyone that didn't love the Brigadier…"

"He played the Brigadier?" he asked, his eyes widening.

"Yes… you didn't know that?"

"No… he was always just the Brigadier…" He sighed, shaking his head. "My brothers and I watched those episodes all the time as kids. Evie, I think, owns them all on DVD now; she watched them with Sherringford just before he died…" I smiled.

"She probably wouldn't say no to watching them now."

Soon, we were all seated on the sofa, watching Brigadier Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart call for "Five rounds, rapid" against a swam of killer maggots. Sherlock has already commented once or twice on the stupidity of Jo Grant, but is ignored by Evie and I. Somewhere towards the end, I heard her soft voice whisper:

"Rest in Peace, Brigadier."


	7. On Curses and It's Causes

Written for my best friend, QuickenMyEnd 3

* * *

The increase in curse words coming from the mouth of his sweet young niece was dramatic and intense and were decidedly a cause of worry for Sherlock. If Mycroft ever heard Evie talking like this, he would most certainly blame Sherlock and likely tell mother on him. Therefore, this insanity had to stop.

"GODDAMN IT!" Yes, this had to stop now, Sherlock thought as he knocked on her door. "Yes?"

"What on earth is going on in here?" Sherlock asked as he entered Evie's room; she was laying face down on her bed, her feet next to the headboard. In her hands was that video game thing she owned… a DS, she called it.

"I'm having issues with Team Plasma," came the simple reply. There was a pause.

"And I'm supposed to know what that means?"

"Of course," Evie said teasingly. "You know everything, don't you?" Sherlock rolled his eyes, sitting on the bed next to her.

"Enlighten me," he said. "What is Team Plasma?"

"They're the antagonists in the new Pokémon games. They're stealing Pokémon from trainers under the guise of liberating them."

"What on earth is a Poke-ee-man?"

"_Pokémon_," Evie corrected him.

"Oh, sorry, _Pokémon_… what are they?" Evie shifted slightly to show him her DS screen. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"…It's a reverse colored zebra with a color changing Mohawk and a brown baby alligator."

"Yes, that is what they look like, but they're Pokémon; the zebra is an electric type called a Blitzel and the alligator is a ground type, Sandile."

"What is this type business?"

"There are different types of Pokémon, some work better against others; plant types are weak against fire, fire against water, so on and so forth."

"And why is this important?"

"Because you battle them."

"You battle them."

"Yes. Here, watch." Sherlock watched as Evie tapped the lower screen of her DS with her purple pen thing—he believed she called it a stylus—which brought up a menu on her screen. After another tap, he watched as yellow dots surrounded the zebra before turning into a wave that surrounded the alligator. "That didn't do much damage, because ground types are strong against electric, but you get the idea."

"What is the point of this?" Sherlock asked.

"Save the world, catch all the Pokémon."

"Why?" Evie shrugged her shoulders.

"Why not?" There was another pause. Evie grinned. "You want to try?"

When John came home from the clinic that night, he was surprised to see Sherlock and Evie seated side by side on the sofa. Evie seemed to have a new DS, a red one that was larger than the black one Sherlock was using.

"What gym are you on?" Evie asked, not looking up from her screen.

"The second one," Sherlock replied. "I'm not sure I can pronounce the name of the city."

"Yeah, they tend to use tongue twisters in this series." John decided now was the perfect time to back away slowly; the thought of Sherlock Holmes playing Pokémon was too much for him to handle.


End file.
